Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On
by Jedi Sapphire
Summary: A collection of S9 related one-shots and tags. #2: Dealmaker: Crowley makes deals. It's what he does. Tag to 9.02, "Devil May Care".
1. The Egyptian System

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note:** So… Season 9. I love it already. *g*

I know there's a bunch of reviews I've not replied to – I'll get on that ASAP. RL's been busy, and I wanted to get this up before the second episode aired. (I'm hoping this year I'll actually manage one tag per episode, but we'll have to see.)

Many thanks to SandyDee84, who always has an answer when I ask her for tag ideas, and to Cheryl for the incredibly quick beta job.

**Summary:** Dean hears a noise in the night, and Sam wakes him up in the morning.

**The Egyptian System**

Dean wakes up to the sound of movement in the library.

He sits bolt upright in bed, glancing at his cell phone to confirm that, yes, it's two in the morning. If Sam's being an insomniac instead of doing what he was told, which was to get some _rest _so his body can recover – so Dean can tell him the truth and he can expel Ezekiel and it can be them against the world again – Dean's going to kick his ass.

He slides his feet into his fluffy grey slippers – Dean loves them, and Sam can roll his eyes all he likes, the little bitch – and pads out of his room.

A glance into Sam's room across the hall confirms that, yes, it's empty.

Dean pauses for a moment, eyes flitting from the bare walls to the stack of books – grimoires and bestiaries and codices – on the otherwise empty desk. He suppresses a sigh. Sam _likes _the bunker fine, but… Maybe Sam didn't bother decorating because, at some level, knew the trials were meant to kill. He certainly didn't sound surprised when Dean told him in that church.

The memory makes Dean wince. It wasn't just momentary frustration caused by the trials, either. That little scene he saw in Sam's head proved it. Sam… Sam was willing to die.

Sam was willing to die after making Death promise that Dean wouldn't be able to bring him back.

And the worst of it is that Dean can't call him on it. Sam doesn't remember, and Dean can't tell him, because _then _Sam'll want to know how he's alive and _then_…

Dean's under no illusions. Once Sam's asked the question, he'll figure out the answer. The kid's too smart not to. All Dean can do is hope like hell that Sam doesn't ask until he's strong enough to live without Ezekiel inside him.

Of course, none of that answers the question of what the hell Sam's doing now.

Dean makes his way to the library.

The lights are on. Sam's on a stepladder, rearranging some books on one of the higher shelves.

After pausing to note the fact that the Men of Letters were so awesome that their bookshelves are higher than _Sammy _can reach, Dean says, "Hey."

Sam ducks his head. "Hello, Dean."

There's something wrong with his voice, something _not Sammy_.

Dean groans. "Where's Sam?"

"Asleep. He is tired."

"And what the hell are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be fixing him? Get fixing! Man, we're going to have a hard enough time keeping this secret long enough for you to heal Sam without you stopping for book-rearranging breaks instead of doing what you're supposed to be doing!"

"Sam is healing, Dean."

"Not fast enough!"

"Dean –"

"He's my brother! Do you understand that? My _brother_. And I don't mean that the way you do in Heaven. I mean it for _real_. And what the hell are you doing on that stepladder? You're an Angel. You don't know anything about stepladders. What if you fall? Get down before you hurt Sam."

Ezekiel sighs, climbing down carefully. "I would have done it the normal way, but I need all my Angelic strength for your brother. Dean, I trust you remember what I said. I cannot promise that I can cure him. I cannot promise that he will live. I do not even understand some of what is happening to him. I will do what I can, but… Some injuries defy even Angelic healing."

"You _said_ he's healing."

"Yes. _Slowly. _I do not know if it will be enough." He looks around, and there's something _wrong_ about that impersonal, indifferent gaze from Sam's hazel eyes. "Sam is asleep, and I was eager to have something to do. You have a nice library."

"Don't mess up the books. Sammy'll think I've done it and it'll piss him off."

"I am _organizing _the books. I simply cannot understand how they have been arranged." Ezekiel pulls a book off the nearest shelf and frowns over it. "There's a sticker on the book, and there appears to be some sort of _number_. I have been organizing your library according to the traditional system."

"The _traditional _system?"

"Yes." Ezekiel looks like he thinks that should be enough of an explanation. When it clearly isn't, he adds, "The Egyptian system. You must have heard of it. They used it in Alexandria for generations."

"In… in _Alexandria_?"

"Yes."

"Like Cleopatra's Alexandria."

"Precisely. Though the system I am using was devised under the reign of the… the second Ptolemy, I think. Possibly the third."

"Come on, man! How am I going to explain this to Sam?"

"Tell him _you_ did it," Ezekiel suggests.

Dean sighs.

X

"Dean!"

Dean groans and rolls over.

"_Dean!_ Wake up!" Something smacks his arm. "Wake _up_!"

It's Sam's voice, and Dean's first horrible thought is that it isn't working, Sam's feeling sick, Sam's going to die –

He opens his eyes and grabs at Sam's shirt.

"What is it? You OK?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

And Sam _is _fine, or as fine as he can be in the circumstances.

Dean releases his brother's shirt and glares at him. "Then how about not scaring the crap out of me next time?"

"What, waking you up is scary now?"

"Never mind." Dean pushes Sam away and sits up. "What is it?"

"Someone's been here! In the library! Dean! It wasn't Kevin, I asked, and anyway he couldn't have come in without triggering the alarm. Someone's been messing up the books! And I checked Charlie's GPS and she's in California and – Dean? Why don't you care about this? Someone _invaded _the bunker."

"Um." Dean fights to keep a straight face. "Oh. Yeah. No. That was… that was me."

"You… you've been in the library?" Sam asks doubtfully.

"Hey! I read."

"Yes, but… Why did you mess up the books?"

There's nothing for it. Dean doesn't have a better answer to that question than the one Ezekiel suggested. "I didn't _mess up _the books, Samantha. I _reorganized _them."

"Reorganized them _how_?"

"According to the Egyptian system."

"The… what?"

"The Egyptian system. You know, like Cleopatra used."

"Cleopatra."

"Yeah."

"_Cleopatra?_"

"_Yes, _Sam. In Alexandria."

"But… but why would Cleopatra have put the Grolier Codex next to the Aberdeen Bestiary?"

"Damned if I know. We'll just have to ask Cleopatra, won't we? I just do what I'm told."

"But who's telling you?"

"Anyone ever tell you that you say 'but' a whole lot too much, Sammy?"

"But –"

"Look, I asked Cas, OK?" Dean makes a mental note to give Cas a head's-up later. "I just… I thought you'd like it."

Sam's eyes widen and soften in that way he has, and Dean groans. Awesome, now he's let himself in for a chick-flick moment. Not that he minds, not when he considers that the alternative is to let Sam find out the truth and expel Ezekiel and _die_, but…

"Dean." Sam's voice is soft. "You… Are you all right?"

"I'm _fine_. I wouldn't have done anything if I'd known it would turn into an interrogation. See if I try to do anything nice for you again."

"I'm not… _Thank you_, Dean, really, it's great that you want to help with the library, though maybe you should explain it to me later because I really don't get it. But it's not that. It's just… Are you sure… This isn't about the church, is it? And what happened there? Because… Dean, you know… I'm not…"

"You don't want to die?" Dean asks, and he tries to ask it lightly but he can't keep a quaver from his voice.

"No, Dean. We're fine."

Dean doubts that – he heard enough of Sam's conversation with Death to know that whatever Sam is, _fine _isn't it – but this isn't the time. He can't bring it up without explaining, and…

"Make sure it stays that way," he says.

Sam grins. "So you're OK?"

"Yeah, Sammy."

That isn't a lie. Sammy's alive, and a few days ago he was dying and the son of a bitch doctor was telling Dean it was in God's hands, like _God's _done anything to help them lately. Sammy's alive, so Dean's OK.

"You've seemed a little… worried."

Dean shrugs. "Well, the world's full of Angels running loose."

"Yeah, I guess." Sam turns to go. "You want coffee?"

"Real coffee?" Dean asks. "Grown-up coffee?"

"_Yes_, Dean. No sugar, no cream."

"Yeah, I could go for some coffee." Sam's almost out the door when Dean says suddenly, "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"You should still take it a bit easy. I spoke to… Cas… and he said even if you feel fine, it'll be a while before your body fully heals."

"Um… Sure. I feel fine, but sure."

Dean hesitates, wants to ask how Sam feels about Angelic possession – in general, hypothetically – but he doesn't dare. If Sam says he doesn't want to be possessed, even hypothetically, it might count as withdrawing consent.

"Sammy?"

"_What_, Dean?"

"You know… you know, if it had come to that, I would've done anything to save your life, right?" Dean pauses, and then adds emphatically, "_Anything._"

Sam's eyes soften again. "Yeah, Dean, I know. Good thing it didn't come to that."

He walks off in the direction of the kitchen, and Dean tries not to think about everything that could go wrong.


	2. Dealmaker

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Author's Note:** I'm loving Season 9 so far. So much that I had a hard time _thinking _of a tag because the episode seemed pretty neatly wrapped up. I did manage one though.

Thanks to Scribble2Much, judyann, Riathe Mai, Leahelisabeth, sammygirl1963, CeCe Away, doyleshuny, emebalia, L.A.H.H, Eavis, sandycub, criminally charmed, hotshow, BranchSuper, godsdaughter77, SandyDee84, 3DBABE1999, twomoms, SPN Mum and SupernaturallyEgocentric for reviewing. And, always, to Cheryl for the beta.

**Summary: **Crowley makes deals. It's what he does. Tag to 9.02, _Devil May Care_.

* * *

**Dealmaker**

"Dean."

"Shut up."

"Dean."

"Shut _up_," Dean said again, pulling the hidden door open just enough to stick his head into the dungeon and glare at Crowley. "Unless you're giving me names, I don't want to hear your voice."

"Or _what_, shortbread? You'll send Bigfoot back to tell me more about the part of me that's human?"

"I know how to make a demon talk."

"Please spare me Alastair's crudeness." Crowley smiled. "Or don't. I'm good with anything, as long as you put little brother in leather."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Is that the worst you can do?"

"Little brother in bondage gear? That's not a threat, Dean, that's me being friendly. Now if I told Kevin how his mother's still alive…"

"You already did."

"And how to find her?"

Dean shrugged. "Go ahead."

"Yes, I'm sure you had the bromance talk with him. But ask yourself, Dean, will that be enough to keep him here if he knows Mommy is alive and waiting for someone to rescue her?"

"If she's alive, you'll tell us that too. And where she is, exactly how many demons are guarding her, and what their names are."

"In exchange for what?"

"Tell me what you've got and I'll make you an offer."

"Please. Like I'm going to trust that." Crowley rolled his shoulders and leaned back easily. "I can mess with the boy, Dean. You know I can. I can make his life a living hell without stirring from this chair."

"He's a strong kid. You might find it harder than you think to _mess _with him."

"Are you willing to take the risk?"

Dean couldn't resist rolling his eyes. "Is this the best you've got? You're losing your touch. I thought making deals was your specialty. I've got news for you: you can't blackmail me unless you make a threat you're actually capable of pulling off."

"That's where you make your mistake, Dean. You're as crude as Alastair. I don't need to make a threat you believe I'm capable of pulling off."

"No?"

"No. I only need to make a threat that scares you enough that you don't think rationally about whether I can pull it off or not."

"Whatever," Dean muttered, stepping back.

"Yes, you run back to your cosy little cottage, Dean. I'm in no hurry to leave. This is a nice place, safe from the Hell-bitch. Though what she's getting up to in my absence…"

"Yeah, I'll leave you to think about that."

"You do that. And I'll leave _you _to think about something. I _know_ you and I'm _very _good at making deals. If I really wanted to make you let me go, do you seriously think I'd be threatening _Kevin Tran_?"

Dean stared at him.

"Say hello to Samantha for me. I'd really like to play with him sometime. It would be such a _challenge_… Can I torture answers out of the man who spent close to two hundred years as a chewtoy for two frustrated Archangels?"

"Shut _up_," Dean hissed.

"Do you think I could make him beg?"

"You son of a _bitch_."

"And it would be instructive. Lucifer and Michael have such different styles. I'm sure Sam could give me firsthand information. Michael, now he's all about _physical _torture. You know the things Alastair did to you that made you break? Imagine that times about fifty, and you may have the beginning of an idea of how Michael's imagination runs. Or perhaps I should say lack of imagination."

Dean knew he should slam the door and leave, because the gleam in Crowley's eyes said the punchline hadn't even come yet, but his feet were rooted to the ground.

"That's really interesting," Crowley said, teeth bared in a horrible grin, "when you consider that the moose's Cage hallucinations didn't even involve Michael at all. Makes you wonder, doesn't it… What did Lucifer do to him that was so terrible that Michael's tortures don't even register on the same scale?"

Dean felt his blood run cold.

"Shut up," he managed to say. "Shut the _hell _up about Sam."

"_There _we go. I haven't even made an actual threat yet, and you're already riled up. It's so easy to play you."

"If you even _think _about hurting Sam –"

"Nag, nag, nag. Don't worry, Dean. Even if I do manage to hurt your pet giraffe – I mean, I've got gyves on my wrists here, but for argument's sake let's say I persuade him to hang himself from whichever rafter in the country is high enough –"

"One more _word_ –"

"I said _if _I do, you can always call on – Ezekiel, was it? – to bring him back."

Ice. There wasn't blood in Dean's veins anymore, it was all ice.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, and he managed to say it confidently, but Crowley just laughed.

"Let's not play games, squirrel. I was in the trunk, remember. I heard it all. I don't know _exactly _what Ezekiel did for you, but I do know Sam couldn't have gone from what I saw in that church to as healthy as he is now without some sort of… shall we call it angelic intervention?"

"What's your point?"

"I'm just curious, Dean. My specialty is… negotiation. I think I could learn a thing or two from you."

"What do you _want_?"

"Oh, I'm not talking about persuading Ezekiel to help you. He was falling over himself to prove that he hadn't forgotten the Angels' mission. You just had to let him. Nothing extraordinary about that. No, I'm talking about Sam."

Dean held his breath, forcing himself not to say anything.

"It's remarkable," Crowley went on, unconcerned by Dean's silence, "that Sam, who's suffered every manner of torture imaginable, and several that are _not _imaginable – not by _your_ restricted little mind, anyway – at the hands of two Archangels, should have let an _Angel _do – what was it you had Ezekiel do to him? I doubt a magic cure would have worked."

"Nice try. How about we just –"

"Unless, of course, he doesn't know at all. That's the truth, isn't it?"

"We're done here," Dean snapped, turning away.

"Are we? All right, then, I'll just ask Sam what Ezekiel did."

Drawing in a deep breath, Dean turned back around. "What do you _want_?"

"Now we're talking. I want an agreement. We declare a truce until I've dealt with Abaddon. Once she's dead it's business as usual, but I'd rather not have you two in my hair while I'm sorting matters out with the last Knight of Hell."

"Why would we ever agree to something like that?"

"I don't know about _we_, but I can tell you why _you _will agree to it. Because Abaddon in charge of Hell would be far worse than me in charge of it. Because if we fight each other while she's loose we're just playing into her hands. And, oh, yes, because if you _don't_, I'll tell Sam what I heard between you and Ezekiel."

"Shut up."

"You don't have to decide now, Dean. Think about it, and let me know in the morning."

When Dean shut the door, Crowley was laughing.

* * *

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